


A Matter of Perspective

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cuddling, Explicit Consent, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rimming, Vulnerable Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-25 00:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10753380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: Sherlock has been in a foul mood all day long. Fouler than usual. When John tries to find out what's wrong, the situation escalates completely."At least, you now know why you don't have any friends, you wanker!"





	1. Confusion and Frustration

**Author's Note:**

> This story is made of two chapters and I hope to get the next one posted some time during the next four weeks. Keep your fingers crossed that university doesn't get in my way and let me know what you think about it. 
> 
>  
> 
> By the way, I just passed an important colloquium at university and therefore I am allowed to do my lab practice in organic chemistry. So, see this story as some sort of celebration. ;)

### Confusion and Frustration

"Sherlock, dear, I have made you boys some scones..."

 

"No, you haven't Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock all but snarled as he slammed the front door shut and fixed their landlady with a calculating look. "You have obviously made them for Mr. Thomson, who expressed his desire to taste your pastries - no doubt after Mrs. Turner mentioned them to him in passing, as they are neighbors. Now what went so wrong that you brought the pastries back home to give them to us?" Sherlock's eyes flickered over their landlady, taking in the splintered nail polish on the index finger of her right hand and the stains of make-up on her right sleeve. The story was as clear to him as if he had watched it play out in front of him. "Ah, yes, obviously your luck with men hasn't improved since..."

 

"That's enough, Sherlock!" John didn't shout the words, in fact, he didn't raise his voice at all and yet the commanding tone silenced Sherlock at once.

 

Bristling, Sherlock turned around to his friend, who smiled apologetically at Mrs. Hudson, while Sherlock was well aware of the anger that boiled beneath the soft, misleading disguise of a jumper and puppy eyes. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock has been in a mood all day long. You know how he is, don't take it personally." Sherlock grinded his teeth, while John was speaking about him... no for him like Sherlock wasn't there at all. Like, he wasn't capable of forming words and sentences on his own to speak his mind. He was just about to announce to John that the victim's sister had only given him her number, because she and her boyfriend were planning on having a threesome, when John grabbed his wrist and physically hauled him up the stairs. 

 

"I would really love some of your pastries, Mrs. Hudson," John called downstairs on their way up, but he didn't wait for their landlady's response. Instead he dragged Sherlock through the door to their flat and closed it behind them with a thump. Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for John's rant to start. After all, Sherlock wasn't as unaware of social niceties and rules as he liked to pretend on occasions. No, it was rather that he chose to ignore them, as he couldn't see the use in exchanging meaningless pleasantries with others, when there were better ways to spend his time. Nonetheless, he was well aware that his behavior today was classified as more than a bit not good. Usually, Sherlock didn't go around insulting every police officer, suspect and witness at a crime scene, but he hadn't been able to keep his deductions to himself today.

 

"Good morning, Sherlock, John."

Sherlock's eyes swept over Lestrade as he jumped over the barrier tape that surrounded the crime scene. "She isn't interested in you," Sherlock announced loudly, while John greeted the police officer with a pleasant smile.

Lestrade's lips twisted in a complicated way, until they settled on an annoyed grimace. "And how do you know that, genius?"

Sherlock shrugged, as he stalked in the direction of the body, which had been found under a bush, adorned with petals of roses. "You have been going out with her for five weeks now. She is understanding of the odd hours you have to work and likes to listen to stories about your job. At the same time, she hasn't had sex with you... No, you haven't even gone farther than a chaste kiss." Most policemen turned away as Sherlock drew closer to the body and pretended not to listen to the deductions about their chef.

"Sherlock..." John's voice held a warning note, but Sherlock ignored him, just like he had ignored him all morning and continued. "She has probably told you some heartwarming story about a sexual assault in her childhood and that none of her former lovers understood her and always pressured her into having sex with them. She must have hinted that she had already given up on finding herself a partner, until she met you and you are so noble and so besotted with her that you promised her to wait as long as she needed." With that, Sherlock kneeled down next to the body of a woman in her forties and let his mind take in all the little details that the pathetic excuses of policemen had certainly dismissed as irrelevant. Otherwise, they would have already solved the case and wouldn't have had to call him to the scene. It was barely a two! Sherlock was just about to point out the missing pearls from her evening gown and the pattern of the petals, when Lestrade's next question interrupted his train of thoughts. "What's wrong with waiting until someone is ready for sex? Hell, Sherlock, I know that you don't get certain things, but if you really care for someone then sex isn't the most important thing on your mind."

Something snapped in Sherlock at that sentence. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was and why he was in such a foul mood today, only that everyone and everything annoyed him. And Lestrade certainly wasn't helping matters by talking about such unimportant nonsense. "There is nothing wrong with waiting for someone to be ready," Sherlock jumped to his feet and pulled the gloves from his hands at the same time, throwing them at some idiotic assistant of Anderson. "Only, if the whole story of a sexual assault is made up and the person in question is actually a journalist, who wants to get first hand information about your work. Especially about my involvement in your cases, as her wife hadn't been able to fool me into taking a case that they had made up, so that they would have a story for their newspaper."

Everyone was staring at him now. No one was pretending that they hadn't listened to Sherlock's deductions anymore. They all watched - in a mixture of horror and fascinating - how the face of their chef turned an unhealthy shade of red as he turned on Sherlock. "You bastard! You couldn't have told me about that in private, could you?!"

Sherlock watched fascinated as Lestrade took a step in his direction, his fists clenched at his side and obviously prepared to give him a good dressing down - and probably a bloody nose - when John stepped between the two men. "You know how he is, Greg. At least, now you can spend watching the next football match at the pub with me, instead of going to a vegan restaurant with your date."

Sherlock wanted to snarl at John to stop interfering in his business and that he didn't mind a good brawl with Lestrade at the moment, but he stopped the words just in time from emerging, when John sent him a warning look over his shoulder. Usually, Sherlock ignored such warnings, but it was different when they came from John. It had always been different, when John had told him how to behave in comparison to when Mycroft had done the same, but... it was even more different today. On the one hand, Sherlock didn't want John to be angry with him and on the other... he felt the irrational urge to wind John up. And that didn't make any sense, did it? After all, last night...

"Hey, Freak, were you assaulted as a child as well or can't you hide your freakishness long enough to get laid?"

Sherlock's whole attention shifted to Sally, who was smirking at him, confident of victory this time. At any other day, Sherlock would have ignored such a dull verbal attack, but not today. Today, Sally's words stirred up memories from last night and John... John...

"Not everyone defines himself over his sexual encounters and I suggest you don't do that either or you will come to a disappointing conclusion. Considering that your last sexual partner was Anderson, who only came to you, last night, because his wife is menstruating." Sherlock watched with satisfaction as all the color drained from Sally's face and Anderson - who had stepped up behind her - glared at him angrily. "You damn Freak, the only way someone would ever want to have you in their bed, is if they gagged you beforehand."

A counter was already on the tip of Sherlock's tongue, when Lestrade stopped the argument, before it could get out of hand. The DI still looked agitated with his lips pressed in an angry line, but he appeared to have overcome the urge to beat the crap out of Sherlock. "I suggest you share your conclusions with us, Sherlock and then you can go the fuck away, before someone loses their temper."

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at that - as if any of the police officers was a real threat to him - and then pointed at the body. "She came here for a rendezvous with a former lover, who was blackmailing her. It has probably something to do with the ridiculous fantasy novels she has written and which have been getting worse and worse for the last couple of years. I say that her lover was the actual author of the novels, but somehow she managed to claim the fame for herself and her ex-lover wanted money from her. She fueled his rage, by offering some fake jewelry as payment and he killed her, though, he is still in love with her. Flower petals, sentiment," Sherlock sneered the last part and waited for some reaction to his brilliant deductions. None were forthcoming, not even a question about how he knew all that and his mood - which had just started to rise - sank once more. "If that's all, then I'm leaving. I'm sure even your incompetent lot can manage to catch the killer."

He stalked away, ignoring Lestrade's outraged protests and Sally's unimaginative insults.  
John was at Sherlock's side when he hailed a taxi, but his friend didn't talk with him either. They spent the drive home in an uncomfortable silence, while Sherlock tried to figure out what had gotten him in such a bad mood, because even he was aware that he had been much crueler than usual.

 

"Tea!"

 

Sherlock looked up from where he was still standing in the entrance - recalling today's events - when he heard John slam two mugs on the kitchen table and he figured that it was time to face the music. Slowly, Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf, before he wandered into the kitchen and sat down in one of the chairs, while John glared at him from the kitchen counter. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I know that you can be a real bastard, but you topped everything today."

 

John looked exasperated and tired. An explosive mixture in the former army doctor and Sherlock knew that he should treat carefully. That the best course of action would be to go to his room and remain there, until he had figured out why he was so on edge today. If he apologized beforehand, John would even leave him alone until dinner and then they could...

 

Sherlock grinded his teeth and glared at his friend. "So, you say that I should remain silent, when Sally is insults me?"

 

John didn't take the bait and merely rolled his eyes at Sherlock's question. "I'm not talking about Sally. What she said was wrong and insulting and you had every right to defend yourself against her. Her words could have been triggering to you, if they had held any truth after all. "

 

Sherlock frowned at that, recalled her exact wording and then snorted. "Mycroft or Mummy would have killed anyone, who had tried to touch me."

 

John nodded, but the suppressed anger still didn't leave his eyes as he regarded Sherlock with forced calm. "So, we have established that you were in your right to defend yourself against Sally, but it was wrong of you to attack Greg like this."

 

Sherlock scowled. "I didn't attack Lestrade, I just pointed out to him that his girlfriend was using him. Isn't it kinder..."

 

"No, Sherlock, it isn't!" Sherlock almost jumped when John's fist came down hard on the table and rattled the mugs on it. Tea spilled over and Sherlock wondered if John would make him responsible for the wasted brew as well, as he appeared to blame everything on Sherlock today. "Christ, we have been over this already. If you wanted to be kind, you could have told him about your knowledge in private and not in front of his whole team. Although," John continued, steel entering his eyes, before Sherlock could interrupt him. "Your behavior towards Greg wasn't as bad as towards Mrs. Hudson. It was deliberately cruel to talk to her like this. I'm just glad that you didn't go to the morgue today or you would have probably ripped into Molly as well. Really, Sherlock, your behavior..."

 

"It's not your business how I behave, John! Don't patronize me!" Sherlock jumped up from his seat and glowered at his friend, using his height as an advantage to tower over him. "You are not my mother or my brother. You don't have any right to reprimand me for my behavior. Just because you had had your cock up my arse last night, doesn't mean that you have any right to tell me what to do. You. Have. No. Right!"

 

The words hung between them like poisonous fog and Sherlock only realised what he had just said, when John's next words cut into him like a bayonet. "At least, you now know why you don't have any friends, you wanker!"

 

OOO

 

John wanted to take the words back as soon as they had left his mouth. 

 

He noticed the second they hit Sherlock, when a silent gasp left his friend's mouth and then... his features blanked as he turned around and stalked to his room. The door was slammed shut with more force than necessary as John kept on staring at the steaming mugs on the table. Christ, what had gone wrong today?

 

John sat down at the kitchen table with a heavy sigh and cradled his head in his hands. Sherlock's behavior at the crime scene wasn't that unusual and John wouldn't have thought anything - or at least, not much - of it, if it hadn't been for Sherlock's treatment of Mrs. Hudson. No matter how cruel his friend was to others, John had only ever witnessed him deducing their landlady once and that had been during Sherlock`s cold turkey on nicotine. It worried John - not because he believed that Sherlock was using again - but rather because he couldn't figure out what had railed his friend up like that. And for Christ's sake, Sherlock was his friend - as well as Greg's, Molly's and Mrs. Hudson's - and maybe even more than that. For a second, John thought about going to Sherlock's room to apologize for his hurtful words, but then he decided against it. If he wanted to prevent a repeat of their former conversation, then he had to figure out what had triggered Sherlock's behavior. Somehow, John feared that it had something to do with the events of the last evening..

 

"You are so beautiful, Sherlock. Gorgeous."

John marveled at the picture Sherlock Holmes - brilliant genius and only consulting detective in the world - made as he was sprawled out under him. The silken crimson covers were a stark contrast to Sherlock's alabaster skin and for a second John wondered if that was the reason Sherlock had decided on this color. He dismissed the thought as soon as it had entered his mind, certain that Sherlock wouldn't waste his brain power on something as mundane as the perfect color combination for his room.

"John!" There was a pleading note in Sherlock`s voice and John allowed his friend to drag him down for a kiss. Dear God, he could spent all night, kissing Sherlock, John thought as he sucked on Sherlock's bottom lip and tore a whimper from his friend. He was so responsive, that John wondered when Sherlock had done this for the last time... or if he had done it at all. "Sherlock," John started, but he didn't get far, as Sherlock's mouth claimed his once more. This kiss wasn't sweet or gentle or even playful anymore. John groaned, when Sherlock's teeth nicked his lower lip, as he angled his head to the side.

Usually, John wasn't found of rough sex, when he was with a new lover for the first time. Too much could go wrong, if you didn't know each other well enough, but Sherlock was initiating it. And John knew his friend well enough to be certain that Sherlock would stop him if John did something wrong. Dear God, Sherlock would probably throw him out of the bed, if he felt the need for it. With that thought in mind, John deepened their kiss and grabbed Sherlock's jaw with one hand to force his mouth wider open. At the same time, John allowed more of his weight to settle on top of Sherlock, pressing his lower body down to rub himself against his friend's stomach-John felt Sherlock's own erection dig into his thigh and he moved his hips to wring a tormented groan from his friend.

"God, John," Sherlock gasped and it was music to John's ears. "I need... please, I need..." The movement of Sherlock's hips and the desperate attempt to get some sort of friction as he rutted against John was enough to clarify his words and John grinned down at him. "What do you want, Sherlock?" He purred in Sherlock's ear, allowing himself a small smile, when his friend shuddered at his voice. Who would have guessed that a brawl with some youths in a pub could lead to this outcome? If John had suspected that all it took for Sherlock to snog him senseless - as soon as they had entered their flat - and then drag him to his room, would be a good old-fashioned brawl at a pub, John would have provoked one much sooner. Actually, Sherlock had provoked the fight with his deductions, but John didn't care for such details, when he had the most gorgeous man on earth in bed with him.

"You... I want you... John."

These simple words sent new waves of heat southwards and John had to take a couple of breaths to make sure that he wouldn't humiliate himself. He had dreamed so often about Sherlock gasping these words - or himself gasping them to Sherlock, he wasn't picky in this regard - that it took John a second to accept them as reality.

"How do you want me?" John breathed against Sherlock's neck, even as one of his hands wandered downwards to tease Sherlock's straining erection with only the tip of his finger. "I... everywhere... please, John... just, I want... you." John wrinkled his forehead at that, even as he kept stroking Sherlock's cock teasingly. That's why they should have slowed down in the kitchen. They should have sat down after the first heated kisses and talked about their feelings - because, bloody hell, John certainly had feelings for this brilliant genius - instead of falling into bed right away. If they had been lovers for longer, John would have known what Sherlock meant by these words. If he wanted a blowjob or John to take him or if he wanted to take John or... the possibilities were endless.

"John!" An impatient whine underlined Sherlock's voice and John gasped when his friend leaned up to suck on his collarbone, before biting down lightly.

"Christ, Sherlock," he muttered, even when his cock twitched at the stimulation. At least, it was fairly obvious now that Sherlock wasn't new to this, otherwise he wouldn't act so confident, would he? John pushed the last flicker of doubt away and then decided to just go for it. If Sherlock couldn't articulate what he wanted - and that was a first - John would make sure that he at least got what deserved: A great time and as much pleasure as he could take.  
Smirking, John pressed one last kiss to Sherlock's lips, before using the element of surprise to his advantage, to turn Sherlock on his front.

"John!"

There was no hint of protest in Sherlock's voice and he didn't try to turn back around, so John went with his plan. He started on Sherlock's neck and kissed his way down his spine, taking his time to kiss every freckle on his way down. Sherlock tasted even better than John had imagined. There was a hint of the expensive shower gel, Sherlock had used before going to the pub with John and underneath lay the unmistakable taste of fresh sweat and something that tasted uniquely like home... like Sherlock. John didn't realise that he had sped up his progress, until he held two plush cheeks in his hands and rubbed his nose against the cleft of Sherlock's arse.

"John, what... Oh God."

A grin flashed over John's face as he licked between Sherlock's parted cheeks and savored the earthy taste of his friend on his tongue. Obviously, no one had ever done this to Sherlock - if his writhing on the bed at John's first struck was anything to go by - and John was determined to make the experience memorable. He followed the tender flesh of Sherlock's down - savoring the taste and his friend's excited moans - until his tongue was finally free to tease Sherlock's quivering hole. A shudder ran through Sherlock's body at the contact and John stopped and waited if any kind of protest would be forthcoming. None did and therefore John proceeded with the exploration of Sherlock's most intimate area. Some part of his brain pointed out to him that he wasn't practicing safe sex her. That they should have showered before doing that, but John drowned that voice out with a groan as he circled Sherlock's opening with his tongue. His friend had only showered a couple of hours ago and his last blood tests had come back clean. No need to worry about infection, he told his mind - that spoil-sport - and continued his work. The ring of muscle quivered every time, John let his tongue flicker over it, accompanied by Sherlock's moans and groans. And his friend got even more vocal, when John pushed the tip of his tongue in Sherlock and moved his hand to fondle Sherlock's balls at the same time.

"Oh, John! Yes, please... I need..."

John pushed in a little deeper with his tongue and stroked Sherlock's hard cock at the same time. Pre- come gathered at the tip and John used it to smoothen his strokes, as he stroked his friend faster and harder, while pushing is tongue in and out his tight heat, until Sherlock was a moaning mess beneath him. 

"John... I... please... more!" He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's plea - demand more like it - and then very carefully withdrew his tongue from inside his friend to press the tip of one finger to Sherlock's opening instead, nudging against the slick entrance. "Is that... what you want?"

John noted the husky note in his own voice and felt the throbbing of his neglected cock. Well, it would have to wait a little longer, as he enjoyed pleasuring Sherlock far too much to chase his own orgasm just yet. Instead of an answer, Sherlock pushed back against John's finger and he chuckled at the typical impatience of his friend.

"Lube, sweetheart," John reminded his friend and wondered if he had done something wrong, when Sherlock's body froze under him at the simple words, before Sherlock exhaled slowly and stretched his arm to open the drawer of his nightstand. The tube of lube and two condoms almost hit John's head as Sherlock threw them in his general direction and a low chuckle escaped him at that. "You are incredible," John whispered and breathed a kiss to Sherlock's lower back and then slicked his fingers with the lube.

The first finger went in effortlessly, as Sherlock's muscles were already relaxed due to John's earlier ministrations and he took his time in preparing his friend - no, lover was probably the more accurate term now. John didn't know when Sherlock had had anal sex for the last time - he was so thigh - but he certainly didn't want to rush anything and hurt him by accident. More preparation couldn't hurt. In the worst case scenario, John would only die from frustration, as his cock throbbed impatiently between his legs and demanded of him to push into Sherlock right now and... But no, he couldn't do that to Sherlock. He would hate himself forever, if he ever hurt Sherlock, while they were in bed together and so much trust was placed in John's hands.

The muscles around his fingers clenched, when John inserted a third one and he stilled his movements at once. "Alright, Sherlock?"

"Yes, just," John felt Sherlock drawing in a deep breath and then slowly letting it out, relaxing his body in the process. "You may... continue." A small chuckle escaped John at the choice of words - so typical for Sherlock and so unfitting for the situation - and did as he was told.

John pushed his fingers deeper into the tight heat. A moan escaped his lips as he imagined how Sherlock would feel around his cock and he had to take a few steadying breaths to calm down, while his erection throbbed demandingly. Soon, he assured himself and angled his fingers a certain way to press against Sherlock's prostate - sometimes his medical training really paid off.

"Yes, again... John!" He had never been able to deny Sherlock anything and therefore, John pushed his fingers teasingly over Sherlock's prostate again and again, wringing groans and moans from his lover as he pushed back against John's fingers. "John, please... I..." The sentence ended in a disappointed whimper, when John withdrew his fingers and grabbed one condom. "Shh, soon," John pressed a reassuring kiss to Sherlock's lower back as he put the condom over his erection and gave himself a couple of strokes to spread some lube over it.

"Lift up a little," John urged Sherlock on and brought his lover to his knees, before halting. "Do you want it like this?" His erection was almost killing him, but John wanted to make sure first that this really was what Sherlock wanted and that he was comfortable with the position he was in. "If you don't..."

"God, John, just... I want you... inside... now!" Alright, he couldn't have asked for a more verbal confirmation of Sherlock's desires. John took a deep breath and prepared himself for the tight heat awaited him, before he pushed into his lover. It felt... incredible. John bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from pounding into Sherlock right away. He had prepared him carefully, but he didn't want to...

"I'm not... made of glass..."

John snorted at Sherlock's protest, but he fulfilled his implied wishes by pushing faster and deeper into his lover than he had intended at first. They both groaned, when John was seated to the hilt in his lover.

"Alright?" He checked again, when they had both gotten their breath back, and took Sherlock's growled Yes as confirmation.

John rotated his hips, searching for the perfect angle to please his lover and only started to thrust, when Sherlock moaned in ecstasy. He snatched one hand around his lover's waist to grip Sherlock's leaking cock and stroked it in time with his snapping hips. At this point it was impossible to tell, who was the more vocal one of the two, as the room echoed from the cries of both men as they drew closer to the edge.

Sherlock was the first one to fall. His whole body shook as he came and John swore that he would never forget the feeling of Sherlock's cock twitching in his hand nor the sticky feeling of his semen running down John's fingers. It only took half a dozen more strokes afterwards, for John to reach his own climax. Everything seemed to stop as his cock pulsed inside his lover and wave after wave of pure lust washed through him and left him boneless in its wake. Somehow, John still managed to keep upright and pull out of Sherlock, before collapsing next to his lover. He pulled the condom off and knotted it together - to prevent a bigger mess - and threw it to the floor.

"That was... fantastic," he murmured and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder as he snuggled up against his lover. They would have to get cleaned up soon, if they didn't want to wake up sticky in the morning, but John thought that it could wait for another five minutes. He was much too content - lying next to Sherlock - to get up now.

 

John frowned down in his - now cold - tea. As far as he could tell, the evening had been perfect. The sex had been amazing and they had both enjoyed themselves. John had made sure that Sherlock hadn't been hurt in any way and his lover had given his explicit consent to everything.

 

John tipped his fingers nervously against the mug. 

 

After some cuddling, he had gone to the bathroom to clean himself up and he had brought a wet flannel for Sherlock. At this point, his lover had claimed the whole bed for himself - being deeply asleep - and John had gone back to his own room to sleep, after he had wiped the sticky mess from Sherlock's stomach. 

 

In his opinion, he hadn't done anything wrong, but that didn't mean that Sherlock's bad mood was unfound. Maybe, his friend had misunderstood something that John had done or said or... maybe, his bad mood hadn't anything to do with last night at all. Either way, John needed to talk with Sherlock... and to apologize for the insult he had thrown at him earlier. No matter how irritating Sherlock sometimes was, he didn't deserve this kind of abuse - especially not from his lover.

 

John steeled himself and then got up from his chair - abandoning his lukewarm tea - to set things right with Sherlock. He just hoped - as he stood in front of the bedroom door - that Sherlock would even be willing to talk with him.


	2. Clarity and Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the long wait, but lab practice was just crazy and very exhausting. On the plus side, I have finished the lab successfully now, but... I still need to study for a colloquium on Tuesday.^^" So, I don't even know how I managed to write this chapter, in between everything else, but I hope it's still good enough for you to enjoy! =)

### Clarity and Relief

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

Sherlock clenched his pillow between his hands and pressed his face into its fabric at the same time to muffle the sobs that were shaking his frame. He was too tired - exhausted - to feel ashamed of the tears that were streaming down his face or the hitched breaths that burned in his lungs. He should have known that it was too good to last. It was always like that, whenever Sherlock thought that finally he had what he wanted, it was torn away from him again.

 

Although, this time, he hadn't even had John, a sarcastic voice in his head pointed out to him. And it was right, wasn't it? A bitter sound - half laugh, half sob - ,was torn from Sherlock's throat as he recalled last night. How gentle and, at the same time, passionate, John had been with him. How he had called Sherlock sweetheart and kissed him and... You should know what hormones do to people, his mind pointed out to him and Sherlock drew his knees up to his chest, until he was lying in a fetal position on the bed, with the pillow still pressed to his face. It was the same position he had adapted, when he had woken up last night.

 

"John," Sherlock murmured sleepily, as his brain came back online. He must have fallen asleep, after he had snuggled up to John -literally wrung out from the sex with him The changed light in the room told him that at least an hour had passed, since he had last opened his eyes. Still, Sherlock refused to feel embarrassed about it. Not, when he had never experienced such an intensive orgasm before. No matter what the commercials wanted you to believe, sex toys couldn't replace the experience of getting off with the person you... loved. Yes, of course, he loved John. 

Sherlock smiled to himself and stretched comfortably on the bed. Heat rushed to his cheeks when his arse gave the faintest twinge at the movement. Dear God, but John had been better equipped than Sherlock's favorite toy... or maybe it was the fact that the position had been different from Sherlock's solo sessions and that John had been in control of the pace and...  
Sherlock bit his lower lip in amusement as his cock twitched at the thoughts. He would have plenty of time to figure out which of the factors had made the experience so satisfying or if all of them had played a role. John certainly wouldn't mind setting up a few experiments to test his theories, although Sherlock would have to tell him a few things first to explain the need for these experiments. What, Sherlock wondered, as he rolled onto his side to face his lover, would John say, when he was told that he was Sherlock's first...

His thoughts came to an abrupt stop as his eyes fell onto the empty spot, where John was supposed to lie. He moved his hand across the mattress. It was still slightly warm, which indicated that John hadn't left long ago. Sherlock listened to the bathroom and when no sounds were forthcoming, he got out of the bed and moved to the kitchen. John got the urge to drink tea at strange hours, as far as Sherlock was aware. But when he entered the kitchen, it was as empty as the rest of the downstairs flat.

Sherlock's heart jumped into his throat as he moved closer to the steps that led to John's bedroom and waited. A minute later the bed upstairs creaked, accompanied by a content snore. Sherlock felt his stomach twist at the sound as an icy chill filled his body and made him shake where he stood. John hadn't stayed with him. He had cleaned them both - otherwise Sherlock would feel the stickiness of his release on his stomach - and then he had gone back to bed like... Like Sherlock had been nothing more than a nice little fuck.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut against the burning sensation behind his eyelids. John would pretend that nothing had happened between them or... maybe he would clap Sherlock on the shoulder and thank him for this night. A sob was torn from him at the thought. He clapped a hand over his mouth in horror as it echoed through the empty flat, but John kept on snoring upstairs. Oblivious to Sherlock's distress and to what Sherlock had given to him tonight. And he would never know, Sherlock swore to himself, anger spiking through the fog of pain as he stumbled back to his room and fell on his bed. He would never tell John what this night had meant to Sherlock. No, he would just act like nothing had happened and when he had calmed down, he would delete the whole experience. Yes, that was definitely better than to live with the knowledge that his first... No, he wouldn't think of it anymore. Never again. Still, Sherlock couldn't stop a single tear from escaping his closed eyes as he curled up in his bed with John's scent surrounding him from all sides.

 

Sherlock took a shaky breath and tried to calm down his erratic beating heart as the memories from last night played out in his mind's eye. He had thought that he could continue like before, if he only refused to think of last night. Obviously, that wasn't an option as today's events proved. Deleting wasn't possible either - Sherlock had tried that already - but the experience was tied to too many emotions. He would have to delete all his interactions with John, in order to wipe his mind clean and that... was unacceptable. Even if John didn't see Sherlock as a friend, Sherlock still... loved him. It felt like a knife had been twisted inside his gut as this thought was accompanied by a breathtaking pain, as Sherlock realised how he had expertly fooled himself all this time. "At least, you now know why you don't have any friends, you wanker!" John's exact words had been and Sherlock was sure that he would never forget them. The worst wasn't that John implied that Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Molly didn't consider him their friend - Sherlock could manage without their friendship- but that John was clearly speaking for himself. If he didn't think that Sherlock had any friends, then... he didn't see himself as Sherlock's friend. And that meant that last night had been nothing else than... fucking.

 

More tears leaked from between Sherlock's closed eyelids, although he was too tired to cry in earnest. He had miscalculated big this time. Sherlock had given everything he had to give to John and he... didn't even consider them to have a special bond of any kind. Friends with benefits, last night Sherlock had feared that it would result in this, but now... he rather wished that that was what John wanted. At least, it wouldn't make last night completely meaningless. At least, it would mean that John cared for Sherlock in some way. At least, it would give Sherlock the chance to make John fall in love with him. At least... No, it was hopeless. Sherlock shouldn't have started to care at all. Mycroft was right - and how bad was that - caring was not an advantage. The last time, Sherlock had opened his heart for someone, he had ended as an addict in the streets, as only the cocaine had been able to numb the pain of the loss of his friend. it But Victor hadn't wormed his way as far in Sherlock's heart as John had and therefore Sherlock wasn't sure if cocaine would even be enough to relief him of his pain.

 

If he used enough it would certainly relief him of all of his pain, forever, a cynic voice reminded him and Sherlock didn't know if he should be disgusted with himself for the thought or if his mind had just presented him with the only solution to escape the sorrow that was eating away on his insides. It wouldn't be easy to get enough cocaine to achieve his goal, when Mycroft kept watching him through his damned cameras, but Sherlock knew that he could manage it if he set his mind to it. And right now, he would have given everything for an injection of his favorite class A drug, but it was impossible to get it right away. He couldn't go through the window, without arousing Mycroft's suspicions and John was still in the flat, therefore Sherlock couldn't leave his room, without running into him and that would be... more than he could handle at the moment.

 

He curled farther into a ball and tried to ignore the faint, lingering scent of a cologne that wasn't his own, when a knock sounded at his door. Damn, he hadn't locked it and John would come inside and he would notice the evidence of Sherlock's crying - even Anderson would spot his red rimmed eyes and come to the right conclusions - and then, John would...

 

"Sherlock, can I come in?"

 

"No," Sherlock answered, although he was certain that it would be ignored. Still, when the handle of the door didn't move, Sherlock couldn't help but frown at it in confusion. The door wasn't locked, so why didn't John just ignore Sherlock's negative reply and come in? Not that Sherlock wanted him to come in right now, of course, but still...

 

"Alright, I'll just stay here, then." Sherlock uncurled himself partially, when he listened to John sitting down on the floor next to his door.

 

"It's not locked," Sherlock called against his better judgment, unsure of what to make of John's actions. Maybe, he just hadn't checked if Sherlock had locked the door. 

 

"Does that mean, I can come in?" Sherlock blinked at the question, even more confused now that John didn't seem to make any movements to open the door.

 

"No," Sherlock replied, just to test what would happen next and sat up in his bed. His curiosity chased the hurt away for the moment.

 

Silence, then: "Alright, but Sherlock, I... just know that I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I was angry and... of course you have friends. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and I, we all think of you as a friend, although... you are a real bastard sometimes." John's voice sounded muffled, but Sherlock wasn't sure if that was due to the door between them or the pounding of his blood in his ears. John had apologized! He hadn't meant what he had said and he considered Sherlock to be his friend.

 

Sherlock took a shaking breath at that revelation and cursed himself for taking John's words literally, when his friend had obviously been too angry to choose his words with care. It didn't change much about the events of last night, but...

 

"If you are up to it... I would like to... that's it, I fear that something that happened last night has upset you and... I think we should talk..."

 

"Come in!" Sherlock called, before he could rethink his choice. He couldn't stand to listen to John's voice through the door, without the opportunity to judge his motives by nothing but the tone of his voice.. Besides, if John had noticed that Sherlock was upset and he cared, then maybe... No, he shouldn't get his hopes up, Sherlock reminded himself, when the door opened and John entered the room.

 

Light blue eyes found Sherlock's right away and a complicated mixture of confusion, pain, worry, sadness and determination flickered over John's features as he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed. And Sherlock remembered how they had stumbled into the room last night and fallen onto that exact bed. How they had kissed and...

 

"Sherlock, please, I see that something upsets you and I... I want to help you. Was it something I did last night? Did I hurt you?" Sherlock bit down on his lower lip and shrugged, unable to reply to the question, without giving away just how wrecked he felt - although John had obviously deduced some of it from Sherlock's appearance - and unwilling to meet John's eyes at the same time.

 

A sigh sounded next to him and Sherlock prepared himself for John demanding an answer or leaving the room in a huff. What he wasn't prepared for, was the strong arm coming around his shoulders and drawing him against John's side. Sherlock tensed - unsure what John's intended with this action - but he didn't object to the gentle force of his friend. The scent of cheap cologne, shaving cream, tea, toast and woolen jumpers hit his nostrils, when Sherlock finally leaned against John's shoulder and new tears sprang to his eyes. Sherlock just hoped that John didn't notice them, as he sat silent next to Sherlock and rubbed soothing circles on his back and shoulder.

 

OOO

 

John hated it. He hated how lost and forlorn Sherlock looked. He hated the red rimmed eyes of his friend and the streaks of tears on his cheeks. He hated that it was probably his fault that Sherlock was so upset. But most of all, John hated that he didn't know how to fix it.

 

He sighed inwardly and continued the soothing motion of his hand on Sherlock's back. At least, his friend wasn't pulling away from him, but instead leaned into the contact. John hoped that this also meant that whatever he had done - unintentional - wasn't as terrible as to damage their friendship forever. If Sherlock would only talk to him and tell John...

 

"You did."

 

John blinked down at the messy head of dark curls, where it leaned against his shoulder. "What did I do, Sherlock?" John inquired, well aware that they had to address the problem - whatever it was - if they didn't want to risk damaging what was between them.

 

"You... hurt me." Sherlock's voice cracked at the last words and John felt an icy chill running through his veins. Dear God, had he been so far gone last night that he had hurt Sherlock so much that he was still upset about it... that he was still in pain?!

 

All the color drained from John's face at the idea of Sherlock being in pain, because of him. Because he had been carried away and... But he had checked Sherlock after their love-making. There hadn't been any indicator that Sherlock would experience more than a mild discomfort - if any at all. No torn skin, bleeding or other obvious injuries, as far as John had seen. Still, it had been dark in the room and...

 

"Not physically." Sherlock's voice interrupted John's frantic thoughts, but his words did nothing to calm John down. Of course, it was reassuring that Sherlock wasn't injured, but the implications of his words made John sick to the stomach. "What... did I," John licked his suddenly dry lips and forced himself to take a deep breath before he continued. "What did I do wrong?" Only silence greeted his words and the only indication that Sherlock had heard him was the tensing of his shoulders under John's hand. 

 

God no, John prayed inwardly, he couldn't possible have forced Sherlock to do anything he didn't want, could he?! The thought that Sherlock had felt forced - in any way - last night, made bile rise up in John's throat. He had known that they should have talked before jumping into bed right away and still, he hadn't listened to his common sense. And now, it appeared that his impatience had destroyed every potential for a future relationship with his best friend.

 

John took a shaky breath and then forced himself to ask the question, to which he most dreaded the answer. "Did you feel... forced, last night?"

 

"NO!"

 

John almost fell from the bed, when Sherlock jumped up abruptly and glared down at him, his expression a mixture of pain and exasperation. "You didn't force me! You had my explicit consent!" A weight fell from John's heart at hearing these words, although Sherlock wasn't finished yet. "You didn't hurt me physically! You didn't force me! It wasn't something you did, John!" Sherlock glared down at him from where he was pacing in front of the bed, still not meeting John's eyes. "It was... what you didn't do!"

 

John blinked slowly at that. "What I didn't... do?" He didn't know what Sherlock was talking about. Was there some set of rules on bedside manner that John had missed somehow? Unlikely, as none of his former lovers had ever complained about his manners. Still, this was Sherlock, he was talking about here and...

 

"You really don't know what I`m talking about." For the first time, since John had entered the bedroom, their eyes met and John fought against the urge to get up and enfold Sherlock in his arms at seeing the unmarked vulnerability in his stormy eyes. Instead, he shook his head and Sherlock's shoulder slumped at the movement. "I guess... it's not required then to stay in bed with someone, if you consider it... an one-night stand."

 

"One-night stand," John echoed and the penny finally dropped. He couldn't hold in a burst of laughter as a wave of relief washed over him about what had only been a silly misunderstanding. "Sherlock, look," he started and made to get up, but was halted by his friend's furious expression. "Good that you find it so funny that I thought my first time would be worth more than..."

 

Horror flashed through Sherlock's eyes and John's mind stuttered to a halt as he processed what Sherlock's words implied. "You mean that I..."

 

"Yes," Sherlock snarled and if John hadn't known him any better, he would have bought the furious scowl on his face and his aggressive body language. As it was, John noticed the barely masked vulnerability and insecurity in Sherlock's gaze, even when his friend ranted on. "You were the first one I indulged in sexual activities with. Congratulations, John, your cock was the first one to be pushed up my arse!"

 

"Stop it, you idiot!" John got off the bed and glared up at Sherlock for a second and then sighed quietly. "God, that's all so... I would have happily shared a bed with you, but you took up all the fucking space and I didn't... I didn`t want to wake you." John winced at how hollow his words sounded, when they left his mouth. His actions had been absolutely logical last night, as they already shared a flat, but he now realized how it must have appeared to Sherlock. God, John had taken Sherlock's virginity - without knowing - and then he had left him alone - without a note - to wake up alone in his bed, after he had just trusted someone with his body for the first time.

 

"I`m a complete arse," John cursed himself and stared down at his feet. He hadn't only ruined Sherlock's first time, but all the trust that had existed between them, only because he hadn't wanted to wake Sherlock up... when his friend woke John up all the time!

 

"And I'm an idiot!" John's head snapped up at the strange note in Sherlock's voice and a gasp was pressed from his lungs, when strong arms enfolded him and drew him into a bone cracking hug.

 

OOO

 

He was so stupid, Sherlock scolded himself, while he clung to John and led his familiar scent surround him and calm his nerves. If Sherlock hadn't allowed his emotions to rule his common sense, he would have realised that John hadn't left him, because he had only considered Sherlock to be a one night stand. If had just opened his eyes and observed, the pieces would have fallen into place. Christ, Sherlock was very well aware that he always kept most of the bed to himself - he had even thrown Mycroft out of his own bed, as a child. And even if he hadn't seen it, Sherlock should have known that John would never use him like that. Their friendship was much too important to John to throw it away for a night of passion. Yes, Sherlock realized embarrassed as he rubbed his heated face against John's woolen clad shoulder, he should have seen it. Instead of crying his eyes out, in his bed - like a frail Victorian maiden - he could have gone upstairs and joined John in his bed and...

 

"Sherlock," John's voice was a gentle whisper against his ear. "Whatever you are thinking, stop it!"

 

Sherlock raised his face, from where it was pressed against John, just so that he was able to look down at his friend and shook his head. "If I hadn't been such an idiot... I should have never doubted you and..."

 

A soft pair of lips silenced him with a brief kiss. "It's not your fault that I didn't think of leaving you a note or... Hell, if I had just talked with you this morning, instead of rushing off to the crime scene with you or... I could have just woken you up last night and..."

 

"John," Sherlock was the one to interrupt his friend with a peek to his jaw this time. "You didn't think clearly, last night either. Hormones are known for clouding the mind and I... I didn't want to speak with you this morning, I just wanted to forget... everything."

 

"God, Sherlock!"

 

This time it was Sherlock, who gasped in surprise, when John's arms crushed him against the solid body of his friend and light kisses were pressed to every part of his face, that John could reach. "Can you forgive me?" John whispered in between the kisses and Sherlock's brain nearly tied itself in a knot, as he tried to make sense of John's apology. He couldn't see for what his friend was apologizing, when he had been the one to make a mess of everything. The anger at John had vanished, the second Sherlock had realised that everything had been a big misunderstanding. Yes, they had both made some mistakes along the way, but it was nothing they couldn't straighten out again... or at least, Sherlock hoped so. Just when he was about to ask for clarification as to why John found it necessary to apologize, his friend's next words cleared up any confusion Sherlock had experienced.

 

"I'm sorry for ruining your first time, Sherlock." And that was so stupid that Sherlock would have laughed aloud, if it hadn't been for the broken tone of John's voice and the way his expressive eyes looked regretfully up at him.

 

"Don't be stupid," Sherlock whispered - his throat suddenly tight with emotions. "It was perfect. You were perfect. I couldn't have imagined a better first time, even if I tried."

 

That at least put a smile on John's face, but he still didn't look convinced and Sherlock huffed in exasperation. "Yes, alright, it would have been better if we had spent the night together, but we could still make up for it now and," Sherlock gestured to his bed, suddenly uncertain how to put his desires into words. Luckily, his friend knew him well enough to guess on what Sherlock wanted. "Cuddle?" John offered and Sherlock nodded.

 

Obviously, it was all the encouragement, John needed, before he maneuvered them in the direction of the bed. Somehow, they managed to crawl under the covers, without letting go of each other.. Sherlock buried his face in the crook of John's neck right away, while gentle fingers ran through his curls and massaged his scalp. Yes, that was perfect. Sherlock sighed contently and brought one hand up to smooth through John's short hair. Exactly what he had missed last night.

 

They stayed like this for what could have been hours - or maybe it were just minutes - just exchanging sweet kisses and holding onto each other and Sherlock felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep, when a sudden burst of laughter made his head jerk up. John's grinning face - eyes sparkling with amusement - was just inches away from Sherlock's and when he raised an eyebrow at him, a low giggle escaped John. "You know, people usually don't do that." Sherlock frowned harder and John gestured to them both.. "Lying in bed just short after midday and cuddling with their boyfriend."

 

Sherlock's mind jumped right over the statement about what normal, boring people did and kept stuck at the term John had just used. "Boyfriend?" Sherlock's heart beat fast in his chest and he was certain that he hadn't managed to keep the hope out of his voice, when John bestowed him with a gentle smile. "Of course, we are boyfriends. Or partners, whatever you prefer. I certainly feel like we have been together for far longer than one night."

 

Sherlock took a shaky breath and then another. It would certainly ruin the mood if he broke down in happy tears just now. Therefore, he waited until he was sure to have his voice mostly back under control, before he replied. "Boyfriends is fine, although... Lestrade might tell us that we rather behave like an old married couple." It was a weak joke, but John still giggled at it and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock decided that he rather liked to be kissed by John, no matter where. He wondered if his friend - No, boyfriend \- had any preferences in this area and chose his next words just to gather more date in this regard.. "We should still keep yesterday as our get-together date, otherwise it will be hard to celebrate our anniversary."

 

John's lips landed on Sherlock's nose this time. "I didn't know that you were the type to celebrate anniversaries. Do I have to be worried that you'll drag me to a murder scene for our ten years anniversary then?" Sherlock's heart skipped a beat at the playful comment, it's implications and - most importantly - the serious undertone in John's voice. Ten years, that was... much too little time for them both together. He wanted to have John at his side, as long as they chased after murderers and then later, when they were retired, Sherlock wanted them to grow old in a cottage on the countryside. Still, even he knew that it would ruin the mood if he started discussing getting old and grey with John now, therefore Sherlock opted for a playful comment of his own. "I find that's rather unspectacular for us. I rather thought of dismantling a drug ring for that occasion - or getting kidnapped by international spies - and maybe a nice celebration in the morgue for our twentieth and..."

 

John's lips shut Sherlock effectively up, as he sealed his mouth in a heated kiss and when they came back up for air, Sherlock ignored the traitorous glistening in John's eyes and instead held him as tight as possible as they snuggled together under the covers. No more words were needed, as the stress of the last hours finally caught up with Sherlock and his eyes fell shut of their own accord... which didn't stop John from whispering three more in his ear, while Sherlock slipped into a deep and peaceful sleep. A smile on his face and with the intention to say the words back to John at the earliest opportunity.


End file.
